You're Not My Homeland Anymore
“He was another knife I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.” —Madeline Miller
Sam had always prided himself on his ability to be objective. After all, he had to be objective. He listened to awful, heart wrenching stories, yet he couldn’t judge. So, Sam knew how to be an objective counselor, and he had offered that trust to James.
James always listened and watched group sessions intently, but he never interacted. He was like a bank vault that not even the best thief could crack.
Although Sam, the counselor, could be objective. Sam, the best friend of Steve, could not.
No veteran was alike, but a few who had witnessed the worst of mankind.
James’ eyes held that haunted look.
So, Sam couldn’t trust James with Steve. He still blamed himself for what happened with Tony, and he’d be damned if he let Steve get hurt again.
“This is a real nice place, James,” Sam said. “How did you afford it?”
Steve glared at Sam. “I told you he got a promotion.”
Sam really doubted that. He’d helped James get connected in a shoddy auto shop. “Have you made any progress on your homework, at least?”
James shrugged. “I can’t.”
“You can’t,” Sam repeated. “It’s a simple assignment—”
“My family’s dead,” James growled. “I can’t make amends or whatever.”
Steve squeezed James’ arm.
They were silent as they sat down for a dinner of steak and potatoes.
Steve offered Peggy some mashed potatoes. “She’s his biggest fan.”
“Huh?” Sam asked.
“Pegg prefers James’ cooking to mine,” Steve explained.
James lightly ruffled Peggy’s hair. “She’s just getting used to solids. I’m sure she loves yours the best.”
Steve snorted.
“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked. “You two just gonna live together and play house?”
“Sam!” Steve exclaimed.
“I-I’m not playing,” James said softly. “I love him. He’s the closest thing I have to home.”
Steve squeezed James’ hand. “I know you’re just worried about me, but he’s not like that.”
Sam wasn’t convinced, but he knew from experience that Steve was like a mountain. It would take a miracle or something much worse to move him.
Bucky watched Steve sleep.
His chest rising and falling. His breaths shaky.
I just wanted to come home, Bucky thought. But what if I hurt him?
***
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